


All The Good Things In Life

by Sister of Silence (Orcbait)



Series: An Age of Heroes [9]
Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/M, Melancholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8817418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcbait/pseuds/Sister%20of%20Silence
Summary: The Crusade era is drawing to it's zenith, gaining momentum with every compliance as more of the primarchs are found and join the effort to unite humanity across the stars. However, in the shadow of success the Emperor's concerns grow. In particular those surrounding one Custodian initiate closest to His heart: the then still Shield-Captain Arlette Amon Rakaposhi Gorro. Like all others, she too wants to join the crusades, no longer content to stay behind on Terra and the safety of the Imperial Palace.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic, finished and updated for the release of 'Master of Mankind' by ADB that seemlessly fits with the 'new' canon. Apparently I am psychic.

Thunder clouds gathered between the Himalazian peaks, thick and black with the promise of a great storm. It would do worse than rain soon, Shield-Captain Arlette Amon mulled as she entered the open pavilion but found He was not there. In her surprise it took her a moment to notice the lone figure standing upon the rock outcrop beyond the elegant wooden structure; a dark silhouette swathed in yellow and crimson outlined against the ominous skies. She hopped off the platform and onto the gravel, her light Kataphraktoi armour clinking. She climbed over the low balustrade and approached Him, quietly taking His hand. He was sad, she could tell. She did not want Him to be sad.

He stared at the thunder clouds, gathering and darkening under the force of His gaze. The cold mountain wind howled among the peaks and tugged at His loose robes. He had lost them. Two of the pillars for Humanity to lean upon. Two of His generals. Two of His… He could not even think it any more. He ground His teeth together as lightning flashed across the sky. They were gone now, dead to the omniverse. He had made it so.

\- Tea? - Arlette gestured in battle-sign against the palm of His hand. Her fingers trembled, their touch cold. Her Custodial initiation had not yet been completed. The foul weather still affected her in all the ways it did not affect Him or her senior brothers and sisters.

He glanced down at her, huddled at His side in her thick winter cloak as she cowered from the harsh wind, and for the briefest moment a smile slipped past His sorrowful features as He gave her hand a light squeeze. + That would be lovely, Arlette mea. +

She nodded and departed as His gaze returned to the dark skies. He could hear her scramble across the balustrade, her light footfalls on the gravel and then wood before they disappeared all together. She was still so young at heart; all smiles and gentle care. But she wanted to see the world outside the Imperial Palace, the galaxy beyond Terra. She was beginning to test the boundaries He set, tempt the horizons He drew. She was no longer content to stay behind. She had recovered well from the gene-therapy and organ transplantations. He should have started the final stages of her initiation several weeks ago, but they involved complex neuro-surgery necessary to integrate all modifications with her central nervous system. It was a dangerous procedure. He knew very well He was procrastinating.

  
She longed for their completion, to become a full-fledged Custodian. He knew this, because He would hear her quiet thoughts about it and her gaze would stray out a window. Not a week ago she had timidly enquired if she were ready for it. Why had she asked Him? She could have them whenever she pleased. _Then why did you tell her ‘no’?_ She’s young, she doesn’t understand what she longs for, the danger the procedure entails. Nor the life after it. _She’s a trained praetorian. She leads her age-mates where others would follow. She can already best some of her full brothers and sisters in combat. What could be out there more dangerous than one of them?_ Plenty, all of them nasty. _All of them things you don’t want her to know about?_ Does she have to know them? Does the universe have to be a horrible place? He did not want the brutality of reality to steal her smile. He sighed. He knew it was not His choice to make, but He wanted her to be happy and He wanted her to be safe. Since when had these suddenly become mutually exclusive?

Life had grown to become so complex across the past millennia. There had been a time when He had thought He understood life and the ways of the universe, with all the conviction of having lived in it for barely a dozen and three years. He had known what had been expected of Him then. He had known how He would achieve these expectations. He had known… he had understood life, if not the ways of the universe. He smiled, though it was a sad smile. A smile for something cherished but long since lost. If He calmed His mind He could still hear him, see him move about his makeshift forge. His father.

“If you know how to extract the blood of stones and craft them into these, Djúva,” His father had said as he observed his young son working the blade. “No tribe will turn you away.”

He had nodded, had committed His father’s words to memory as He worked the red metal to a shimmering orange. Sweat beaded on His brow. He pressed the back of His hand past His forehead in annoyance, pushing His dark hair out of the way and leaving a streak of sooth. He worked the blade, keenly aware of His father’s gaze upon His hands.

“It is done,” Djúva said at long last and held up the blade for inspection. He was nervous, but He refused to let it show.

A deep furrow had creased His father’s brow at His declaration, his brown eyes shooting across the blade like a hawk across a field, searching for weaknesses, for flaws. However, a smile split his father’s weathered features. There were none. “Well done, son,” he said as he reached for Djuva’s head full of tangled dark hair and mused the wild locks up further. “That is a fine blade.”

Djúva motioned with the blade, as if He expected his father to take it, but the older man shook his head. “Keep it, you will need it soon enough.”

He recalled so well how pride had swelled in His chest at His father’s words; happiness at the notion of no longer being a child. “Come, a weapon alone will not make you a man,” His father had added as he turned to leave the forge. He’d followed him so fast. When they walked in the direction of the herd’s coral He had barely been able to contain a whoop of joy. His own horse; sire to His future herd.

“Let him choose you,” had been all the advice His father had given as they neared the pen of yearlings.

The young animals appeared excited and curious at the appearance of a human roughly their own size. One of them, a gangly buckskin with the blotted sheen of unkempt gold, tripped over his own legs in excitement to get nearer to the small friend-beast.

“Hey you,” Djúva started, a little askance, as the animal blundered towards him. The beast was awkward, even compared to its age mates. The young stallion whinnied happily and collided into him with the force of an ore sack. And nuzzled his face until he was streaked in horse snot. It did have the sheen, though. Djúva’s gaze wandered across the other yearlings. The only other was a pearly mare, but she could not be the root of his herd.

As if aware of being judged, the yearling pulled his act together and trotted around Djúva in as gathered a fashion as he could manage; his head proudly high, his long neck curved and his tail up. The young stallion stopped and reigned himself in, standing straight and solemn, his head curved back. His snout furrowed in concentration and, slowly, he reared. His hind legs shook as he tried to keep himself up as long as possible before coming back down with a clean double beat. He kept standing perfectly still, eyeing Djúva expectantly from the corner of his equine eyes.

“Show off,” Djúva mused, and the yearling snorted, throwing his head. “Come.” At that, the young stallion whinnied and followed him back, prancing so high he almost kicked the back of Djúva’s legs.

“How will you name him?” His father asked, amusement evident in the squint of his dark eyes.

“Kašku,” Djuva grinned decidedly as he glanced sideways at the awkward yearling. “Like the clumsy Moon who fell from the sky-OW!” The yearling had stepped on his foot, shifting his not inconsiderable weight onto it. Though when Djúva glared at him, the animal snorted innocently.

“As fine a name as any,” his father chuckled. “Now get out of here before I change my mind about letting you have this one.”

Djúva needn’t be told twice. “Come Kašku!” he exclaimed as he clambered onto the yearling and firmly grasped his mane. Kašku pricked up his ears, prancing in excitement as he tried to look around at the human on his back. He wasn’t sure why the small friend-beast was doing that, but he knew they were slow and that they liked running together in this way.

Karshall had barely opened the pen or his son and young horse stormed past him with matching whoops of excitement. They zigzagged among the yurts, family and friends jumping out of the way as they rushed past, quickly becoming an ever smaller cloud in the distance.

“That boy has an eye for horses.”

Karshall turned to see Terkin, his forge-wife, stride towards him while cleaning her hands on a rag. She was short of stature but straight in the shoulders, possessing a raider’s solidity. Sweat beaded on her forehead and made her ochre skin shine in the evening sun. She must have been working. “What brings you out of the forge at this hour?” he enquired with a hint of amusement. “Or any hour that does not toll for war?”

“I heard them over the ring of my hammer,” Terkin replied as she indicated the rapidly dissipating dust cloud left by his son. Her hands were rough from wielding the hammer, which she did with equal skill at the anvil and at war.

Karshall chuckled. “They were both eager to start their life together.”

“A burugaya yearling and a stallion at that,” Terkin observed bluntly as she mopped her face with the rag. Though her forceful demeanour was diminished by the  adorable streaks of sooth now left crossing her face. “A mighty gift to a fifth son.”

Karshall frowned at that, for he knew he was disproportionately fond of the boy. He was unproven, unconcerned and gentle of nature. Too gentle.

“Oh, he’s from your loins,” Terkin chided at his frown, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t you try deny it and shame Maryacha! She is more devoted to you than Chakal and I put together.”

Karshall’s frown turned into a scowl. “That was not in my thoughts.”

Terkin gave him an askance look, squinting in that way she did when doubting the truth of someone’s words. Though after a moment a smile tugged at her lips. “He is yours, I can see it in his eyes,” she remarked. “You had that same look when we met.”

Karshall raised an eyebrow at that, a smile tugging at his scowl.

“Besides,” Terkin added as she leaned towards him. “He has your nose.”

Karshall could not help but laugh. “Then I pity him indeed,” he chuckled. “Though I admit, I am fonder of the boy than I aught to be.”

Terkin glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “Do we need a reason to love our young ones as much as we do?” she wondered. Her words hung in silence for a long moment as they gazed at the horizon, before her expression turned to one of disapproval. “Chakal is greatly offended that you prefer Maryacha’s young sprout over her whelps. She may be herd-wife, but she presumes much and treats Maryacha unfairly.”

Karshall was well aware of the growing tensions between his wives. Terkin had been at his side the longest and ever been his truest companion, but she had never cared for the proud Chakal. Certainly not after Chakal had attempted to displace her from her position as forge-wife. He should have abandoned Chakal then, at that first glimpse of selfish ambition, but she was the daughter of another chief. Separation would have been - would still be - a declaration of war. In addition, she had been with child. Karshall’s frown deepened as he glanced sideways at Terkin. “Would you not feel the same?”

“You are an idiot if you think I would act as she does. You feel a great deal for Maryacha, as you well may, but unlike Chakal I know that your affection is not finite, that your love for Maryacha does not diminish the care you carry in your heart for me,” Terkin huffed, crossing her arms as she gave him a look that could have curdled milk. “My daughters can draw on the strength of our union, on the strength of our blood. Chakal only cares that you are chief and that her sons are your first. The Khar’han Khal have always held such views, built on the nonsense of physical form instead of character.” Terkin spat on the ground. “Chakal’s form may be pleasing and her words may be kind, but her character is foul and she raises her sons as selfish as her clan. She feeds them not milk but envy from her breast.”

“You never gave her a chance,” Karshall observed. Terkin had loathed Chakal from the moment she had laid eyes on the Khar’han Khal woman; a sentiment that was most definitively mutual. Terkin had never given Chakal a chance, even if Chakal had never bothered either. He shook his head as if the motion could rid him of his troubles.

“And I have damn fine reason, too,” Terkin retorted as she pushed up her sleeve, showing the scars the stone’s hot blood had left there as if he needed reminding of the horrible ‘accident’ that had befallen her years ago. “Unlike the ones she wields against Maryacha!” Karshall could see the fire of her temper smolder behind her green eyes. It had been her strong personality that had led him to choosing her first. “But what I have never understood is why you like her,” she spewed. “Chakal must possess mighty skills that are only wielded at night, for I have not seen a single desirable quality in her during the day.”

“That’s quite enough, Terkin,” Karshall scowled. He knew she was right. He knew he should have acted earlier. No matter which way they went now, all paths would lead to war with the Khar’han Khal.

“I am telling you, she will not rest until she has it all,” Terkin continued stubbornly. “She knows you are fond of Djúva, and by the gods, does she know Maryacha takes up an ever greater space in your heart. How long do you think it will be until his saddle breaks? Until a yurt beam snaps her gentle back?”

“Terkin! You know separation will mean war,” Karshall retorted, his own temper rising now from pure frustration with their situation.

“Herds can be dangerous, it would not be the first time a life was lost in a stampede,” Terkin pointed out.

“No!” Karshall’s jaw worked as if he were chewing his thoughts, searching for words to express his disapproval. No matter how they separated, it would lead to war with the Khar’han Khal. Unless they stooped to Chakal’s level and carried it out believably too. And he simply refused to do so, and would not allow Terkin either. What worth had they as leaders if they gave an example not fit for following? No. “Terkin, I forbid you-,” he started.

“Oh! You forbid me?!” Terkin interrupted, prodding an accusing finger in his chest. “If it weren’t for your boneheaded decisions we would not have this problem in the first place. I told you she was a bad stone! But no, you had to bed her. This is your fault, Karshall! You did this to us – all of us! This is your fault and you know it!”

“What would you have me do then woman?!” Karshall retorted, grasping her shoulders and shaking her firmly. “Condemn the peace of our people? Now? While many of our men and women are still too young, their steeds as untrained in war as they? If our generation falls now, there will be no one to teach them, no one to keep them safe. No one. Our younglings and yearlings will be taken and the Khar’kish Hall will be no more!”

“It certainly appears to be worth our peace,” Terkin retorted as she pulled herself free and crossed her arms, glaring in a different direction. She was well aware of the precarious place their clan was in. And despite her words, she felt it was her fault too. If only she had been able to have more children, it would have helped bridge the gap. She shook her head angrily. “I stand by my words then - the peace between our peoples is not worth the loss of peace in my life.”

Karshall sighed and rubbed his face. He felt old. He wished he had a son to leave their clan to, a son that wasn’t Chakal’s that is. “If only the boy were stronger,” he mused as his gaze wandered to the horizon once more. “He takes too much after his mother.”

“Hah! Maryacha may seem soft and sweet to you, but she loves you something fierce,” Terkin remarked. It was evident she tried to stay angry with him, but a grin tugged at the corners of her lips no matter how much she tried to control it. “I would not cross her with ill intent to you or yours.”

Karshall glanced sideways at her and shook his head. “Perhaps, but she’s no raider.”

“Not all warriors carry blades,” Terkin echoed the old proverb, her lips pursed though amusement was apparent in her eyes. “I’ve seen her throw Bhorshall out of the yurt for displeasing Morina.”

“Ah, so that is where the broken nose came from?” Karshall enquired, the corners of his lips twitching. His sister’s brother had been particularly vague about how he had sustained the injury.

Terkin grinned. “She wielded that ladle like a hammer! It was a glorious sight.”

“You should ask her to the forge,” Karshall commented, suddenly thoughtful.

“I did just so, but she has no desire to raid, unfortunately,” Terkin returned with a disappointed sigh. “She said ‘someone needs to keep life in shape’ while we are out, and she said she prefers doing that to ‘splattering around in blood and mud’.”

“And right she is,” Karshall agreed. He had always known Maryacha to be a hearth-wife, one who loves the home and the young ones. He loved Terkin equally, but she cherished the forge and war. She had never wanted to be anyone but a raider and a smith. Their three daughters were healthy and strong, but he feared she blamed herself for not wanting more, for not having sons. If only he could take her sorrow, and fling it away across the tundra. “I do not want her to feel left behind.”

“I do not think she feels so. She said she was content,” Terkin returned, crossing her arms once more as a frown creased her brow now too. “I made certain she knows to say if she ever wishes different.”

Karshall nodded in agreement, his gaze returning to the horizon. “I hope Djúva will find a woman like you. He needs someone that will sharpen his edges.”

Terkin pursed her lips in disagreement. “That boy is sharper than you think,” she commented, her gaze also returning to the horizon. “Do not mistake kindness for weakness. His roar might not be like yours, but if his bite is anything like his mother’s then its scars will last.” Terkin chuckled then, indicating the horizon. “He’s on his way to her now. You know what lies in that direction.”

“Ren’rhal?” Karshall replied, surprised. “You have seen him with a girl from Ren’rhal?”

“Maryacha told me; she has an eagle’s eye to spare for all whom she cares for,” Terkin answered. “She’s also his mother, and a mother knows when her son is favoured over his brothers. She worries.”

“Do you know who?” Karshall enquired, resolving to speak with Maryacha and quiet her worries. He had a suspicion those concerned Chakal and her sons. He’d be damned if he let anything happen to Maryacha and their boy or his yearling, least of all ‘accidents’.

“It’s a little goat herd with the greenest eyes,” Terkin replied with half a grin. “He thinks no one knows.”

Karshall chuckled for he could well remember those days. “I wonder if that love of green eyes has anything to do with you?”

“That boy could do better than gawk at women twice his age,” Terkin snorted as she put her hands on her hips. “Such as help her at the forge!”

Karshall laughed. “No, but truly, do you know who?”

At this Terkin positively grinned. “Kerdakal’s youngest, her mother is Meralcha.”

“Really?” Karshall’s eyebrows rose when he heard his cousin’s name. He remembered Kerdakal’s leaving with his first wife to settle in her village as if it had been yesterday. It had been quite the ordeal, and a loss to the clan. Karshall had always thought his wild cousin would die sooner than sheath his blade. He wondered if they were well? “Meralcha…” Karshall frowned. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Because that’s my oldest sister, rock for brains,” Terkin teased as she prodded him.

Karshall’s eyebrows rose to new heights.

“Try to keep up,” Terkin added as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, inadvertently smearing sooth on his face too.

Karshall frown deeply then. “If she’s alike Maryacha-.”

“If the girl loves Djúva with half as much fire as Maryacha does you, it will still scourge his enemies into ashes,” Terkin countered before he could finish his thought.

“She’s not a forge-wife; if she had her father’s temper we would have heard,” Karshall continued. “There are better choices.”

“For him, or for you?” Terkin asked, glancing sideways at him. She shook her head. “That’s not it, is it?”

Karshall sighed.

“You do not wish to lose him.”

Karshall nodded, reluctant despite everything to put his dislike of Chakal’s sons into words. He wished Djúva to stay, to raise a herd and, one day, lead their warriors. Karshall held no ill feelings towards his cousin, or his choices, but he feared Djúva might make the same. If he did, the clan would be lost as surely as through war.

Terkin remained quiet for a long moment, weighted down by her husband’s concerns as much as he was. If only she had been able to give him a son, too. Their daughters were strong, smiths and warriors all, but Chakal would invoke the old laws to favour her sons. Terkin glanced down at herself. She did not wish to raise another child, she had never wished to raise any child, but she did not want to leave her family, her people, to the mercy of Chakal’s kin either. She had not bled in many months. But perhaps, there was still a chance?

“I would not mind, if it is still possible,” Terkin said eventually as she took his hand, looking at him once more.

It took Karshall a moment, but then he smiled faintly and gave her hand a slight squeeze. “I know.”

 

* * *

They had stormed across the tundra. He had a horse now, the sire to his future herd. And a sword. One more summer turns and they would ride to war together. The bone carved horse pendant beat against his chest under his tunic. He grinned fiercely into the hot wind as he rode. He would not ride alone. No one stopped him when the two of them came thundering into the village. And why would they? He might wear the still unused arms and ill-fitted armour of one of the horse tribes, but all he _was_ , was a gangly boy on an awkward yearling. Besides, he was not all together an unfamiliar face.

Djúva rode straight for the mud-clad dwelling she lived in. He knew the way, for he had often ridden there in his dreams on a horse of mist. However, this time Kašku’s powerful muscles flexing beneath him were reassuringly real. “Aštigwēn!” He called as he vaulted off Kašku and hit the ground on a run, skidding towards the entrance of the underground dwelling. It was against the heat, she had once told him. He had taken her word for it, because he knew nothing of homes that weren’t yurts. “Astii?” He repeated as he stuck his head through the opening. Kašku butted in beside him, causing him to overbalance and tumble down the ladder, smacking painfully into the packed dirt. A string of curses addressed to his mount’s genitals left his lips as he rubbed his face.

“Djúva! Are you hurt?” A blur of pale khadi and gentle tugs later Djúva was propped upright and Astígwen was scrutinising him with concern in her beautiful green eyes. She was wearing a cream kurta with red embroidery. He thought it looked nice on her. “Are you hurt?” She asked again, shaking his shoulders a little. Why was he staring so? Had he fallen on his head? She hoped he had not shaken the inside of his head too badly. One of her uncles had died from such a thing!

Djúva snapped from his wandering thoughts and groaned. Good spirits, he was hurting all over. He pulled a grin on his face anyway. “No, I am good,” he replied, then added by way of an explanation: “Kašku pushed me.”

“Who?” She frowned and felt his head. At least his skin didn’t feel hot.

“Kašku. My horse,” Djúva elaborated, a goofy grin on his face. He was proud that he had his own horse now.

“Your horse pushed you down?” Aštigwēn gave him a look as if she thought the fall on his head might have addled his mind. That must be the lamest excuse he’d used to explain sneaking up on her in ever.

“Yes!” He nodded, still grinning broadly. “Kašku? Kašku!” he called. There was trampling overhead and surely enough a horse snout appeared through the entrance a moment later. It snorted loudly by way of greeting.

“See?” Djúva said, as if proof were necessary.

Aštigwēn nodded, but then frowned again. “Why have you come? I cannot bring the goats out till tomorrow?”

Djúva looked at her as if he had thought his motives were obvious. “I have come to take you home of course!”

“Djúva,” she started, that look returning as if she thought something had bruised inside his head. “I already am home?” She indicated the house around her.

He looked at her for a moment in confusion, then shook his head. “No, no. My home, I mean, our home!” She didn’t reply immediately, and the silence that fell between them quickly grew awkward. “I mean, I haven’t actually built it yet, I thought you might like to be there?” He rambled. “I don’t know what kind of home you would prefer? Var ger are very strong against the wind but require many heavy beams while kalin ger are light to bring but can’t be divided easily and-.”

His stream of words came to a sudden halt when she pressed a kiss to his lips. She smiled and took his hands. “When do you want to go?”

“Now?” Why else would he have come? She wouldn’t take the goats out until tomorrow. Although he supposed she wouldn’t any more if she came with him. Or would her father allow her to keep them? Or some of them? He wasn’t sure. They could figure that out later. He smiled broadly and rose, hugging her and lifting her up before turning to the stairs.

She chuckled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t think that is going to work.”

“No,” Djúva agreed crestfallen and put her back down. He took her hand instead as they walked to the stairs.

“When will we come back?” she asked as he started up the stairs.

Djúva stopped and frowned. “Well, never?” he replied uncertainly. Why would she want to return? Did she not want to stay with him and Kašku?

Aštigwēn stopped. “Never?” she echoed as she looked around her parents’ home. It was all she had ever known. She wanted nothing more than to always be with Djúva but… but this was her home, her mother and father were here, and her little brothers and sisters, and all her things were here too.

“Astii?” Djúva asked in apprehensive tones, a gaping pit opening in his stomach when she had suddenly stopped and turned to look back. What if she changed her mind? What if she didn’t want to come after all?

Aštigwēn’s gaze lingered on the weavings her mother had made and the low table her father had carved. She would leave her parents, one day. She had always known this. But the horse tribes wandered, and her family did not. She might never see her village again. “…but my things?” was all she managed in a torn squeak.

Djúva breathed a sigh of relief as the ravine in his chest closed. “I will make you new things!” he promised with a solemn but nonetheless cheerful grin. “Any things that you want.”

She frowned as she considered his offer, eyeing the room around them. “But I want my own things.”

“They will be your things?” he replied, not certain what she was trying to distinguish. “All my things belong to you too.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze returning to him. “Can I bring some of my things?”

“Of course!” He answered immediately, then glanced up the stairs. “Well, if they fit on Kašku? I mean. Kašku will have to be able to carry them.”  
She smiled. “They will.”

It wasn’t overly long before they climbed out of the house, holding a satchel each. They contained some garments and tools and a bit of food; the spindle her mother had given her and the little toy animals her brother had made her and a knife from her father. The practical things, and all those things that could never be replaced.

“Ready now?” Djúva asked as he took the satchel from her and tied them together.

“Yes,” Aštigwēn smiled happily.

Kašku stood grazing in a vegetable bed not far from them. When Djúva whistled, the horse pointedly ignored him and continued eating the young green stalks. “I guess he doesn’t want this delicious flat bread!” Djúva surmised loudly, and Aštigwēn’s giggle exploded butterflies in his stomach.

Kašku came galloping towards them all but immediately, butting in between them and pointedly offering his side to Aštigwēn while nudging the satchels Djúva held. There was food in there, he could smell it.

“I will make some for you,” Aštigwēn promised as she rubbed Kašku’s snout, who roughly nuzzled her back as he lowered himself a little, as if to help her climb on his back.

_Show off_ , Djúva thought, but he was happy his horse and wife liked each other. That was important. They would have to find a mare soon, trade for one, perhaps? How else would they start their herd and ride together? One summer. One summer turn and they would ride to war together. He wondered idly if she could wield a blade as he slung the satchels across Kašku’s shoulders. He’d make her the finest blade ever made. It would keep her safe when he couldn’t. She must learn how to use it, that it was a friend.

“Djúva?”

He glanced up from his thoughts to see her smile.

“Wait, I will-,” he started, but she had already heaved herself onto Kašku.

“I can ride, you know,” she chuckled.

“Good!” Great. That was great! Djúva grinned broadly as He climbed behind her. Kašku snorted in protest, but Djúva ignored it. Coškun would learn to bear heavier burdens than them soon enough. He took hold of Coškun’s mane with one hand, putting the other arm securely around Arlette’s waist. He had not wanted her to fall. It had been then that He had promised He would do anything, everything, to keep her safe, to make her happy. A promise He intended to keep.

When she had taken hold of Coškun too but put her free hand on His at her waist, His heart had done a little leap that had left it bouncing in His chest. Coškun had needed no encouragement at all. He had barely pressed His heels to His horse’s sides or the young stallion had jumped into an uncontrolled gallop, his whinny a mirror of his riders’ excited cries.

When He calmed His mind He could still hear her, hear her laughter ringing across the tundra. 

_My Emperor._

The timid thought snapped His mind back to the present. Shield-Capatain Arlette Amon stood by His side once more, holding a tea bowl in her hands. He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead as He accepted the proffered draught. + Thank you. +

She nodded and put her slender arms around His waist, the touch of her cheek against His side warm and reassuringly physical, like the ceramic bowl in His hands. He sighed, resigned in a future unavoidable. If seeing the world beyond the Imperial Palace, the galaxy beyond Terra, was what she wanted, then she would have it. He would make it so. Perhaps, despite the closing darkness, the bloodshed and violence of war, it was for the best.

He shifted the tea bowl to His left hand and put His arm around her shoulders. Perhaps He needed her near. He took a sip from the tea as a ray of sunlight broke through the threatening sky. Perhaps He needed her by His side. To remind Him why He fought, struggled, held on. To remind Him of all the good things in life - all the things worth fighting for.

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of time and hard work went into the creation and publication of this story and as such it is very dear to me. I would love to hear what you thought of it! If you decide to share my story, please credit and link back to me. Thank you!


End file.
